Queen of New York
by BirdieTheNewsie
Summary: Young Mary had just been fired from her job. Little did she know, that that day would change her life forever. Because as soon as she's fired a cocky, intelligent, boy named Racetrack finds his way into her life, followed by the overwhelming Spot Conlon. Problem is: she can only pick one. A story of kings, queens, papes, birds, and cigars...
1. Chapter 1

Queen of New York

Chapter 1:

Racetrack

The shrieks of children filled my ears as I used my sewing machine, careful not to miss a single stitch. I was working at a sweatshop two blocks away from where I live. My little sister, Annie, was working next to me, hazel eyes narrow in deep concentration. I occasionally looked over at her to make sure she was doing okay.

I finally finished the last stitch on the hem the dress I was making. _It's a pretty little dress, _I thought, _some little girl would be very lucky to have it, _and, _oh how lovely this would look on Annie. _It really was a beautiful dress. I crossed my arms and rubbed my arms to try to keep my arms from practically freezing off. It was wintertime. Luckily, I was wearing long sleeves, but not every kid in the shop had that sort of luck. I started to work on the sleeve of the dress looked over at Annie again, just to be sure she was okay.

The events that followed completely changed my life forever.

All I could really remember was a stinging burning, excruciating pain in my right pointer finger. I immediately executed a blood curdling screech and everyone went quiet to look at me. Annie turned to look at me then gasped. Her gasps turned to screams. I figured it had to be the machine. My finger must have gotten under the sewing needle on the sewing machine. I was still screaming. The needle drilled down unmercifully and tears streamed down my cheeks and I began to bang on the table with my free hand. I started to curse wildly, throwing every word out that I knew, swearing at the adults in charge that were still staring at me in shock. "TURN IT OFF, PLEASE TURN IT OFF!" I pleaded before unleashing a cry of pure agony and torture.

Eventually, a large man with a mustache came by and switched off the machine and took my arm. I started shouting at him, yelling at him for not turning the machine off sooner, and demanding that he doesn't touch me. He was trying to guide me out of the room, by I stood my ground. "You're fired!" he hollered, but I stayed put. He then picked me up and carried me off, while I was slapping and hitting at the man's arms commanding him to let me go, still crying and wincing in pain. I saw Annie staring at me, shocked, her big hazel eyes gaping at me. I couldn't just leave her there.

_"Annie!"_ I screamed with all the loudness I could muster. _"Annie!" _The man was still dragging me out of the room and I was still hitting at him and screaming and crying and bleeding.

We went down some stairs and a lady gave me some white bandages for my wounds that I didn't dare to look at. Then, both the man and lady flung open doors that lead to an alleyway. They shoved me out and the man yelled, "_And don't come back!" _before slamming the door behind him.

I finally got the courage to look down at my wounds. Well, it was definitely going to scar. The needle pin had dug into my cuticles, and blood was splattered all over my right hand. Half of my fingernail was gone, and a layer of tender, pink skin was showing. I winced. I had no idea how it was going heal. It was going to get infected, so I began to wrap the bandages around it.

"Whoa," marveled a voice. "Well, that ain't 'gonna heal any time soon." I looked up. A boy was standing across the ally, leaning against and drain pipe. He had on a hat, and a vest and a nice shirt. He was a pretty good looking fellow. "'Ya get fired?"

I nodded. The boy nodded back. He took a match out of his vest pocket, and a cigar out of the other. He struck the match against the brick wall and it caught fire. He lit his cigar, and then took a long, slow, puff.

"What'd 'ya do?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I lifted my right hand in response, to show him my screwed up finger. He started to walk over to me, and I started to panic. What was he going to do? Jump me? It's not like I had anything to begin with.

Instead, he took my hand to get a closer look at my finger. "Did one of the needles get 'ya?" he asked. I nodded. I yelped as one of the embers of his cigar fell on my wound and his eyes widened and apologized, then took the cigar from his mouth and threw it of the ground, careful to step on it with his foot.

When he was done examining me, he asked, "Can't 'ya talk?"

"Yeah." I said back, annoyed.

"What's 'ya name, dollface?" he asked.

_ Should I tell him? _I thought. _Or should I make up a fake identity? _I looked into his deep brown eyes, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and decided that he looked like a pretty trustworthy guy. "Mary." I said quietly, suddenly becoming a little shy.

"Yeah, that ain't 'gonna work." he interjected, I little rudely in my opinion.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Well, sorry!"

"Sorry!" I said in a goofy man voice, mocking him.

"Your new name's Birdie," he said right off the top of his head.

I was shocked. As much as I was starting to despise this mysterious boy, he really did come up with a beautiful name. I squinted my eyes and coked my head to the side. "What?" I asked.

"It's your newsie name, Birdie." He said, and winked. Yeah, I definitely didn't like him. He was arrogant, and rude, and aggressive, and immature.

"But I'm not even a newsie."

"You can be, if you want…" he said in a manner that was a little too friendly for my taste.

"But I'm a girl." I retorted.

"Exactly." He shot back. He winked. I raised my eyebrows.

"Wow," I said. "You're really quite the jerk, aren't you. Good God! Why did I ever even tell you my name? Goodbye, whoever you are!" I yelled, tears still streaming down my face from the accident that occurred a few minutes ago.

I stomped away, out of the alley. "Wait!" the boy called. I turned around, long blond hair whipping around as I turned. I stomped toward him, very angry. I stopped and leaned in so I was about six inches from his face. "What?" I snapped.

He smirked. "I'm Racetrack." He said, and stuck out a hand. "I would spit in it, but you might find that _rude._" He made air quotes when he said the word "rude".

I shook his hand and frowned. "I'm Birdie," I said back, deciding that it would be best to just humor him. He smiled. Before I could say anything else, he took my hand. "C'mon," he said. "I'll show 'ya my place." And before I could protest he raced down the street, dragging me with him.

What did I just get myself into?


	2. Chapter 2

Queen of New York, Part 2

"Well, 'dis is it." Racetrack said mildly, gesturing to a building that said _Newsboys Lodging House_. It was a crappy looking building, a little run down. I raised an eyebrow.

"You live here?" I asked, suspicious. Racetrack looked at me and smirked.

"Is something wrong?" he questioned. He didn't seem hurt by my remark, and I could see mischief and sarcasm dancing in his eyes, and he seemed a little amused.

"No…" I began. "I just thought it would be…"

"'Nicea? 'Bigga? 'Cleana? Well 'scuse me, princess."

"I thought I was Birdie." I retorted sarcastically and annoyance started to overtake the sarcasm in his lively eyes. He hesitated.

"It could be yours…" he said, looking at me once more. I was completely caught off guard.

"Mine?" I scoffed. "Mine? You just met me, Racetrack. I could be a murderer, a thief, a convict, an alcoholic, or a drug addict. You don't know me, and I don't know you. So stop being so straight forward. Because all we are is strangers that just so happened to cross paths and you just basically kidnapped me away to you're so called home. So just stop."

And for once, the king of wise cracks was silenced, and had absolutely nothing to say.

He then took my arm politely, as if nothing had happened, and guided me in, showing me various rooms and spaces to sleep. Where they ate, where they slept, where they hung out, where they played. It was interesting, sort of, and it was like visiting another planet. Their lifestyles were just so different from Annie and I's and I was eager to learn more about it. He introduced me to his friends: Jack Kelly, or Cowboy, a really handsome guy, who seemed really nice, and was really tall. Kid Blink, or just Kid, or just Blink, an aggressive guy, with an eye patch, but something about him was really likeable. Crutchy, a really lovable guy with a bum leg that needs a crutch. He was really smart and funny and had really kind, optimistic heart. Mush, which was really handsome and super sweet. Specs, a smart guy with glasses. Boots, who seemed like a really good guy. And then there was Snipeshooter, Itey, Skittery (who was annoyingly negative), Bumlets, Pie Eater, Snoddy, Jake, and Dutchy.

"So," Racetrack began. "Wha'da 'ya think?"

"It's different." I answered firmly and truthfully. He shrugged. Then he challenged the guys and me to a game of poker. Most of the guys declined, and at first I wondered why. And now I know why. I lost all of the loose change in my pockets. But he said that was okay since what's his is mine, apparently. I made sure that I'd use that against him later.

"Want some?" he says gesturing to a green bottle on the table next to him.

I raised my eyebrows. "What is it?" I asked. I didn't want to chance anything yet, since I didn't exactly trust any of the Manhattan newsies just yet.

"Beer." He said in his accent, as if it was the plainest thing in the world. Honestly, I wanted to try it. So, I reached across Race, grabbed the bottle and, just to sample it, I guess, licked around the rim and stuck my tongue into the bottle. I made a face when I tasted the bitter stuff. Jack laughed.

"Got yourself a cute one there, Race." He said smiling. Race smiled and put his arm around me, which I rejected.

"Yeah real cute." I said glaring at Racetrack. "You'll pay for this later." I whispered fiercely into his ear.

He only chuckled. "I betta'!" he whispers back.

Later that night, the boys said that they had a special guest coming over, and I got real worried. It was always a mystery with them.

But, as they said a mystery person walked through the Lodging House door, loud and cocky, and full of life. Anger and passion and mischief were coursing through his bright blue eyes. He was tall, and sort of on the thinner side, but not skinny either. He was carrying a slingshot, cane, and two bottle of beer. He was cussing like there was no tomorrow, telling stories of the encounters he made on his journey here. He seemed wild. And I needed to find out more about him.

I looked back at Race, brown eyes looking at me, then the floor. He saw me looking at this boy. I turned up one of the corners of my mouth and shrugged. Then I crept over to him. "Who's that?" I asked.

"That's Spot Conlon." Race answered in dismay. "King of the Brooklyn Newsies. Big fighter. Big smoker. Big drinker. Good opponent in a game of poker. Has a slingshot, good aim. Attracts girls as many girls as he buys cigars. And goes through them about just as quickly. He's sixteen. An _okay _guy. Not great. Not bad. _Okay. _He's big competition for everything."

I didn't have time to respond before Spot strode over to us. "This your goil, Race?" he asked.

"Yes." he responded.

"_No._" I said, making sure that was clear for the both of them.

"What's your name, dollface?" Spot asked.

"Birdie." I said looking over at Race, purposely brushing his arm as turning to Spot again.

"I'm Spot." He said smiling coolly, an eyebrow raised,

"I know who you are." I said and tilted my chin up a little, arms crossed.

Spot just stood there for a second, as if he was taking me all in. I wasn't exactly that good looking, long blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles. I was tall, like Spot, both of us taller than Race. He looked me up and down then just smirked. "Good." He said and walked away, not leaving me with another word.


	3. Chapter 3

Queen of New York

Chapter 3

"Birdie…" a voice murmured to me. "_Birdie…_" the voice went again. I fisted the blankets under me and I felt the scratchy sheets over me. My eyes immediately snapped open. Without taking time to recognize the face hovering over me, my hand sailed up and smacked whatever went into its path. I heard a whimper and a few mumbled curses. Before me, I saw Racetrack; hand on his cheek, still groaning.

"Jesus!" yelled Racetrack. "What's was that for?"

I rubbed the crust out of my eyes and licked my dry lips. "Sorry." I said in my raspy morning voice. It finally dawned on me that I slept wherever I was sleeping. And it also dawned on me that I went to sleep without actually remembering going to sleep. "Race, baby?" I asked sarcastically.

He obviously didn't catch the sarcasm. Or maybe he did, and was just taking advantage. Either way, he smirked as he stood up, and fixed his suspenders. "Yea?" he asked proudly as if he'd just won a trophy or prize.

"Did I sleep here?"

"Uh-huh."

"And, uh, Race, where were you?" I asked awkwardly as I sat up to look at him.

His eyes suddenly widened for a second, and then he went back to his normal cool state. "Relax; I slept in the top bunk. I'se not _that _creepy. I'se creepy; just not like that." He said.

_"So you admit it!" _I yelled, laughing.

"Yea, yea, I admit it. But not that creepy. Just right in the middle. I'se creepier than Cowboy and Crutchy, but not as creepy as Spot Conlon." He made claws with his hands. "Yet." He both chuckled and Skittery yelled at us to shut up. I couldn't help but notice the frustration in Race's voice when he said _Spot Conlon. _

"There 'ya go 'wit Spot again! What's wrong 'wit him, why don't 'ya like 'em?" I asked, eyes widened it realization of how I said that sentence. Racetrack chuckled again.

"You're startin' to sound like me. Maybe I'se rubbin' off on 'ya."

"Never." I stated bluntly. "Now don't change the subject. What's wrong with Spot?" I stuttered a few times, making sure not to sound like Race.

"I 'don know. Just… he's not you'se kind of guy."

I started to get a little agitated. Who was he to tell me who was and wasn't my type? We only met, and he was treating me like he owned me, or even worse, like his girlfriend. "Oh really? He's not my kind of guy? And you are?"

His brown eyes were dancing with the same arrogance there was when we first mmet. "Yea."

My mouth dropped. How could a person be so rude? "You're so full of it!" I snapped and walked into the other room to get ready for the day. By then, a few guys had begun to crowd around to listen. _"Scram!" _I shrieked to them all and stomped away. I looked at myself in the long mirror and sighed. My face was fuming, my eyes had formed dark circles under them, and my hair was in a tangle. Oh, that Racetrack. He sure did know how to make me angry.

My thoughts were interrupted by Jack Kelly, who accidently bumped me with his elbow when he was combing his hair. "Sorry." He said, looking in the mirror. He then turned to face me. "Well, well, if it isn't Race's goil!" he said smiling. It wasn't a mean or mocking smile, just a genuinely kind and inviting one.

"I'm _not _his girl." I said looking at the ground.

"Oh, well, sorry then," apologized Jack. "It's just Race's been tellin' everyone you was. So I just assumed."

"Well, I ain't." I said, covering my mouth after saying _ain't._

Jack laughed. "It's okay. Anyways, is there somethin' botherin' 'ya? 'Ya looks upset."

I tried not to snicker at how horrible his grammar was. "It's just; he's so… possessive and full of it. He won't stop bringing up how terrible Spot Conlon is, and then won't tell me why. And then he's all like, 'Spot's not you'se kind of guy' and it's like, _who are you to tell me who is and isn't my type? _He's so arrogant."

"Okay," Jack began. "Well, first off, he isn't as bad as you think he is."

"Psht, sure." I snorted.

Jack held up his index finger telling me to be quiet. "Don't interrupt me." He said. I tried not to giggle at how adorable he was acting. "I'se tryin' to teach you somethin'. So shut up." I raised my eyebrows and opened my mouth to say something else but he shushed me. "Anyway, what I was saying, before I got so _rudely interrupted _was that, did 'ya ever think that maybe he's doing all this 'cause he likes you? Hm?"

"Likes me? Yeah, right. He's doing this because either: A) He's just looking for someone to aggravate. Or B) He _does _like me, but has other intents in mind, if you know what I mean, Jack." I stated factually.

"Or," Jack said matter-of-factly. "Secret option C) He likes you, and he thinks you like Spot because he _knows _that Spot likes you, and he now thinks of Spot as a threat so he's trying to talk you out of liking Spot so he can have you all to himself." I was impressed; his grammar was surprisingly superb when he said this.

"Oops, sorry, didn't really catch that, can you speak up?" I asked Jack, to push his buttons, knowing that what he said was a mouthful.

He rolled his eyes. "I SAID," he said loudly. "THAT HE LIKES YOU, AND HE THINKS YOU LIKE SPOT BECAUSE HE KNOWS THAT SPOT LIKES YOU, AND NOW HE THINKS OF SPOT AS A THREAT SO HE'S TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF LIKING SPOT SO HE CAN HAVE YOU ALL TO HIMSELF!" He was almost yelling. I put my face in my hands and laughed. Mush turned around and looked at us funny, followed by Kid Blink. "Yeah, yeah, turn back around, nothing to see." Jack said. I snickered.

"Smooth." I said. Just then, Race entered the room.

At first, he didn't say a word to me. I pretended not to see him. I gave Jack a look. A kind of look that said "hey, let's piss Racetrack off!"

"So…" Jack began awkwardly. "Yeah, if 'ya really wanna see Spot _that bad, _we can invite him 'ere tonight." I smiled inwardly in twisted delight. This could be the golden opportunity. I needed to find out more about this mysterious Spot Conlon. I just had to. Something about him was just so fascinating to me… and plus, and yes I will admit it, I did find him extremely attractive. I looked over at Race, who was combing back his hair in the mirror. His eyes went from smug to sad and disappointed. I laughed manically inside. I know, it sounds harsh, getting joy out of someone else's pain, but I just couldn't help it.

"Oh, really Jack?! You'd do that for me?!" I squealed, acting excited. "Since last night, I just couldn't get 'em 'outta me mind!" I threw in the accent, just to push it over the edge. My eyes flicked to Racetrack who was looking at himself in the mirror, clearly eavesdropping. He then shifted his eyes to the ground and grimaced. He finished combing his hair and left the room to find his hat.

"You'se terrible!" Jack said, chuckling uncomfortably.

"Well, he deserves it. We'll just have to get him out of the Lodging House for when 'Spot comes over'" I said mischievously.

"Oh, no, no, no. We're still seeing Spot. But we're going to Brooklyn. And you'se 'comin wit' me. Spot wanted to see 'ya again."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay, first off, I thought this was all a joke. I didn't know I was actually _seeing _Spot."

"Well, you are. If there's one thing I can and will do, it's keep a promise."

"And second, why are you tellin' me what ta do and where ta go?

"'Cause I'm the leader of the 'Hattan newsies, that's why." Jack aggressively replied. "Okay, look, Birdie, I don't agree wit what you doin', but, hey, if you really wanna bother Race, his is how ta do it."

"But why do we have ta go there?" I heard stories of Brooklyn. None of them were very… let's say… positive.

"Because, like I already said, he wanted to see you! I don't know why, you'll find out tonight! God!" Jack snapped.

The good Lord only knew why Spot wanted to see me that night. And in only a couple hours, I was to find out.


End file.
